Page 2 of My Russian Protector

What I did see, though, was a beautiful young girl with curly blonde pigtails skipping up the driveway after school each day. I remember thinking that Pavlova should have been paying more attention to her and less to his gambling because one day, she was going to have men obsessing over her. Now, here she is and I was right. Only, I’m the one that’s obsessed—not even an hour after meeting her.

The heat was really coming down on the mob during that time, and the big bosses got busted before I located Pavlova. I knew that if I finished the job, I was not going to get paid so I just stopped looking. It was shortly after this that my partners and I decided to go straight. Pavlova would have been my last hit. I guess things do come full circle.

“I have to ask, why didn’t your father just come home when the mob bosses got arrested?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that my father went on the run to escape from you and he never returned. I’ve done my research and everyone I’ve talked to has said that you didn’t finish the job. Is that right?”

“Yes,” I nod.

“So, he’s out there somewhere and I need to find him. If you won’t help me, I will find someone who will.”

The desperation in her eyes makes something warm unfurl in my chest, something foreign and unfamiliar. I can’t allow her to go out looking for someone else to take this job. It wouldn’t be safe, and although I’ve never much cared about other people, I have an overwhelming desire to keep this girl safe.My girl.

No one’s going to touch her.

No one but me.

Ah, hell. What the fuck is going on? What’s happening to me? Where did this sudden protective instinct come from?

“If you throw this amount of money at any other man in the people-finding business, they’ll rob you,” I warn her.

“If you won’t do it, I guess I have to take my chances,” she shrugs.

“Maybe they won’t just rob you. Maybe they’ll hurt you, too. Then, to make sure you don’t talk, maybe they break a few pieces off of you. Or, maybe they just kill you.” I try to sound nonchalant but just imagining those low-lifes being anywhere near her is enough to make my blood boil.

She throws her hands up and her eyes fill with tears. “I don’t think you realize how important this is to me, Mr. Alborov. I don’t want to be robbed or hurt or killed, but if I have to take that chance, then I will.”

Now I’ve done it. I’ve made her cry. The last thing I want to do.

In a momentary failure of composure, I reach across the tiny table and wipe the tears from her cheek. She gazes deeply into my eyes and it takes every ounce of self-control that I still have not to take her in my arms and cradle her like a baby.

There’s no way I can send her out like a lamb to the slaughter. Like it or not, I’m taking this job. More than that, I’ll make it my personal mission to protect her, keep her safe, and make sure her father’s enemies don’t come for her.

“It’s okay, little girl. Calm down. I’ll take the job, but first things first. You need to tell me when you last saw him and if you have any idea where he might have gone.”

2

THE JOURNEY

ANNA

The morning fog covers the city as I step out of the taxi in front of the luxury hotel Alexsander Alborov calls home.

“Crime does pay,” I mutter to myself as I slip past the doorman and into the lobby. I’m not certain when he’ll be leaving but I’m not taking any chances. If I have to stake out this hotel all day, I will. I sit down on the Queen Ann settee with gold damask cushions and pretend to read the Moscow tourism magazine that someone discarded on the seat beside me. From this vantage point, I can see everyone that gets on or off the elevator.

I’ve been so preoccupied with securing Alexsander’s services that I haven’t taken the time to consider the kind of person he is. Now, with nothing but time, I begin to dissect the man I plan to spend countless hours with alone on the road.

When I saw him in the café, my eyes were drawn to the sheer size of him. His six-foot-five-inch stature dwarfed my five-foot-four frame. He was wearing a dress shirt and tie, but his professional attire failed to hide his rippling biceps and dark tattoos. When I was a little girl, my father took me to a strong-man competition. I suspect that Alexsander could have given the winner a run for his money.

His dark hair was slicked back to appear professional but I would bet that fresh out of the shower, it would fall over his big, brown eyes. I squirm in my seat as my mind paints a picture of him coming out of the shower. Naked, dripping wet, and gushing with sex appeal. I don’t want to admit to myself how attractive he is, but there’s no denying it now.

The elevator bell chimes and I watch as Alexsander steps through the doors. He’s wearing a leather biker jacket, tight jeans, and black boots. I grin as I see his long hair draped over his black-rimmed sunglasses.

This is the real Alexsander Alborov. Smart, dangerous, and potentially deadly.

I leap from my seat and rush toward him. He sees me but continues to walk toward the lobby doors. I have to sprint to catch up to him and slow my pace as we walk through the doors.

“What are you doing here? Until I complete the job, we have nothing to discuss,” he says without turning to face me.

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